


Our Injured Boy

by HugeDokuroBugs



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Gen, Illness, Poisoning, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8732308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugeDokuroBugs/pseuds/HugeDokuroBugs
Summary: When Guzma gets poisoned and paralyzed by accident, the grunts are determined to do their best to look after their boss.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated yet again to all of you lovely /guz/manons, and especially to the anon who suggested this idea! Keep up the creating, keep up the talking, and keep up the good love for our boy!

The grunt wasn't kidding when he said that he'd witnessed plenty of Bug-type Pokemon which haven't been seen before in the Ula'Ula meadow.

As Guzma was carefully making his way through the lush red vegetation of the meadow as not to startle the bugs, he couldn't help but marvel at the life buzzing all over the place. Busy groups composed of multiple Nincada, Venonat and Spinaraks were scurrying past him on the ground, and up in the air - he couldn't almost believe his eyes - were a small group of Venomoths, spiraling all over the sky. If he had a camera in his hands, he would've snapped a photo right away; they were beautiful Pokemon more common to Kanto and Johto. He squinted at their wings, hoping to identify what sort of powder they were dusted with. The breeze around the meadow was slowly picking up in strength, and it was already blowing right in his face, but he didn't pay any attention to it nor the angry screeching of the Oricorios. Most of the Venomoths were covered with dust that was light in color; it was used to paralyse their enemies. Few of the Venomoths were answering the Oricorios' screech with a mad chitter of their own, wings spread up high as they prepared to scatter their dust at them, harshly flapping their wings forward. Most of it hit their unfortunate targets, but the wind was about to gift Guzma with his own portion of the fine cloud of light and dark dust. The dark one, that's what they used to poison their enemies. It took Guzma a moment to put two and two together, and it was too late for him to cover up his face.

He caught quite a lungful of the fine mixture of powders.

\----

His vision was blurry; everything was blending into a mush of dull hues, the sea of colors lurching in a nauseating manner every time he blinked. This was bad. He hoped he could trust his numb limbs to guide him back home, but every now and then his legs would give out under him, his locking up arms preventing him from catching himself. The resulting hits to his legs and arms and who knows what else couldn't have looked pretty, couldn't have felt pretty, either, but he couldn't tell it through the numbness. Forcing his limbs to co-operate again took time, time that he couldn't particularly calculate. It felt like hours had passed before he started to hear familiar noices in the distance, noices belonging to people who could, hopefully, possibly, help him out - his own grunts. The partially paralyzed man couldn't make a single sound; his vocal cords were the first thing to go when he'd inhaled the dust. Guzma crawled forwards on his arms, unable to rely on his legs anymore after they had eventually fully resigned. _'Please, notice me_ ,' he was pleading in his head, gravel and dirt digging underneath his nails as he was pulling his heavy weight further, ' _please._ '

Blots of black were steadily growing in number the closer he got towards the source of the noises, and by the time he'd heard the voices address him, the darkness had already claimed his vision, followed by his consciousness.

\----

"This ain't good, ain't good, ain't good, ain't good at all!" panic and concern was filling a male grunt's face while he was inspecting the unresponsive body of his boss. The bruised arms didn't look good at all, the purple bubbles spilling from his lips didn't look good at all, and a hand involuntarily latching onto the grunt's arm and locking up _especially_ didn't look good at all. "Dang, boss' paralyzed and poisoned at the same time, wh-what should we do?" he turned to look at an equally panicking female grunt, her eyes wide. "D-Don't ask me, I'm not a doctor! But we gotta get boss back to the town, and quick!" she was lifting up Guzma by his legs, her hold shaking from the weight and fear. "Come on, help me carry him!"

\----

Po Town was absolutely bustling with grunts; the skies were clear, with no dark clouds in sight, it was a rare treat that everyone tried to appreciate as much as possible. Having no rain beat down on them - or as Guzma once said, "Bulu's not emptying his bladder on us right now, so we gotta enjoy it" - they were getting ready to do some more street art, plan a ball game or two, just have a good time in general. It all came to a screeching halt when their attention's were caught by actual physical screeching coming from the gate, turning quite a few curious heads. The grunts guarding the gate were running towards the rest of the group, flailing their hands wildly before gesturing at the large figure carried by two grunts behind them. 

"Hey, is that boss?" a grunt asked up from the roof of a car, squinting at the sight.

All hell practically broke loose.

Questions were tossed around by the shocked grunts, speaking up at the same time, with few of them flinging aside whatever they had in their hands at the moment before rushing to their boss' side. "We dunno what happened to him, but he needs help, and fast!" the male grunt hissed, and Guzma's unconscious form was passed off to stronger grunts who could handle his tall frame better. Guzma was being rushed towards their mansion as quick as their toned legs allowed, with a herd of grunts running after him, their thoughts an indecipherable mess.

Guzma groaned, his eyes slowly fluttering open, his vision as much of a blur as it was before. He was vaguely aware of being carried, of the loud noise that followed after the people carrying him kicked the large doors open, and the stomping of numerous feet. The dizzy leader picked up the familiar scent of spray paint and frustration in the air, easing up a little - yeah, he was home. He still couldn't move his arms or legs, though. Guzma frowned at himself as he was being rushed up the stairs, out of the window to the roof, up the-

He went unresponsive again.

\-----

All the grunts present in Po Town had gathered to the hallway outside Guzma's room, squatting and mumbling to each other, wondering what had happened to their boss. "Maybe Tapu Bulu got mad at him for drinking so much Tapu Cocoa," one of them suggested. "Dude, don't even joke about that!"

The door to his room opened after a while, and out stepped a few of the older grunts, and everyone's eyes were instantly drawn to them. "Our boy's bruises and cuts have been bandaged well, but it's the poisoning and paralysis we're worried about. He's sleeping right now, but he managed to tell us what happened, and..." the tallest one of the grunts explained, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

"Is he dead?" a curious grunt's voice called out from the back.

"No, he's not-" the grunt took a moment to handle the question, "he's _not_ dead, but he needs help. Any ideas?"

"I've got few bottles of antidote," a female grunt was digging through her purse for them.

"Nice!"

"There's some Lum and Pecha berries in the kitchen, would those help?" asked a short grunt getting back onto their feet.

"Very nice!"

"I've got Officer Nanu!" a grunt called out from the window, stepping in with the man who looked as indifferent as always, holding something in his hands.

"That's really g- You _what_?"

Everyone's heads whipped back to stare at the cop, with few of them scooting away from him, trying to stay composed.

The red-eyed man walked through the crowd of grunts, paying them no attention as he approached the ones standing by the door, showing them what he was holding. "Let's get this out of the way so I can go home."

\-----

When Guzma woke up, he blinked, surprised at the state of his vision: he could see, and there wasn't a bit of blur staining his vision. He smacked his lips, tasting something unpleasant in his mouth; was it antidote? He wasn't able to think about it much longer when his thought were interrupted by the door opening, and he looked up at a grunt peeking into the room. "Hey, boss is awake!" the excited grunt called out over his shoulder, earning him loud cheers and whistles. In the blink of an eye the room was filled by as many grunts as it could, with the ones that didn't fit inside looking in from the door frame. "How're you feeling, boss?" a female grunt sitting down at the foot of the bed inquired, getting a blank look from Guzma in return.

"Ya know, I'm not sure," Guzma started, looking down at himself. He didn't need to look under the covers to confirm that he'd been stripped down to his underwear, and they'd done a good job with bandaging him up, too. He lifted up his arms, seeing both them and his fingers visibly shake, earning winces from few of the grunts. "I can kinda feel these, but my legs, they're numb," he frowned.

"Officer Nanu told us to keep on feeding you berries and antidotes, he said it's not he first time he's seen something like it, boss."

"Nanu was here?"

The grunt quickly slapped his own hands over his mouth, realizing what he had just told Guzma. The last thing he wanted to do was make Guzma angry, surely the incoming fury at allowing the officer into the mansion was going to make things worse. He braced himself for the Team Skull boss' words, eyes shut tight.

"Huh."

There was no lashing out, just a simple, tired reply, but it was enough to startle some of the grunts to back out of the room. They'd never seen him like this; this sick Guzma was something unfamiliar for them. Some of them had seen him ill before, but never like this. In the past he'd still had energy to shout at them and toss and break objects - before Plumeria had forced him back into bed. This sick Guzma was simply tired and out of it. And they had no idea how to respond to it.

"He left you these and told ya to get better soon."

Guzma accepted the offered items with shaky hands, inspecting them with curiosity: a scratched up can of Tapu Cocoa, Nanu's Meowths must've gotten to it first. His attention was turned to the second object, a store-bought card with a laying down, sad Alolan Persian printed onto it, with fancy, curled golden letters stamped above it that said…

"…Condolences?" he stared at it, and for a moment he thought his vision was screwed up again.

A grunt carefully took them from him hands and set them aside, nodding at another grunt pushing through fellow grunts with a tray. "He, uh, he said he'd bought that for you in advance. Said that it'll be relevant if things turn from bad to worse."

"Huh," he blinked at him, and then at the tray that was set down onto his lap. "What's that?" Guzma's nose scrunched up at the smell and look of the bowl of mush sitting on the tray. It was green with slight tints of pink coupled with a layer of clear liquid, and it smelled awful, like poison with a hint of something sugary. The grunt staring at the tray shared his expression beneath the bandana judging by the scrunched eyes. "Mashed up Pecha and Lum berries with antidote. Do you want Tapu Cocoa powder on it?"

Guzma shook his head immediately. If this is what he had to eat to get better, then he was gonna get it out of the way as soon as possible. His twitching fingers attempted to grab the spoon, but he could hardly hold it without dropping it with a loud clatter. "Drat!"

A grunt held up a hand: "Ya need help with that, boss?"

"No!"

"Sure thing, boss!" the grunt approached him, picking up the spoon. "I said "no", I don't need- hmph!" a spoonful of the nasty gunk was gently shoved into his mouth, and he had a hard time keeping it down. It certainly tasted as bad as it looked and smelled, maybe even worse.

"I wanna help out, too!"

"Same!"

"Me too, me too!"

The bowl was passed around from one grunt to another, with each of them feeding their tired boss a spoon of the horrible pulp until all of it was securely down his throat. "You did good, boss," a grunt ruffled his messy hair, praising him. Guzma wasn't in the mood to tell him off.

"Where's Plumeria?" he mumbled, his voice rough as he tried to adjust his position with the help of his hands; he still didn't have any control over his legs, but hopefully that'll be fixed soon.

There was a brief silence in the room as all the grunts realised that they hadn't spared her any thought during the chaos. And when she'd get back, they all shuddered, they were sure to get into a big trouble over all this.

"She's, uh, she's still fixing 'problems' over at the other side of the island, but she should be back soon."

Guzma slapped a big hand over his eyes, groaning. "Great, I can't wait to get yelled at. Any of ya got spare ear plugs?"

"Nuh-uh."

"No."

"Sorry, boss."

Guzma dragged his hand down his face, his eyes closed. "Great. I'm gonna take a nap now, wake me up before she gets here so your boy can be ready."


End file.
